The Mafia Boss And His Contract Wife (Book 3)
In that way, he wouldn’t have to be bound to the traditions, to me, and to this baseless contract.
My hands stilled on an album with velvety cover, soft in touch. I pulled it out. But my eyes rounded as I read the name written with a bold marker—Amara. My heart drummed in my chest, my mind quarrelling about if I should be touching this.
The album was filled with discs, the names on them borderline disastrous to funny. Eros’s stupid philosophies, Amara’s hostile grunts, Xander’s missing. I laughed. Gina was right. This was far more interesting than anything else.